How To Kill The King
by Of.Steel
Summary: Sasori has plans for a kunoichi he encounters after a murder in a teahouse: create a perfect living doll, and use her as Akatsuki's unassuming assassin. She is bound to fulfil his every wish, even if it means strings of murders that could bring war.
1. The Bloodshed At Glasshouse

Author's note:

First off, this story contains an OC, and the rating may be bumped up due to some content. I know a lot of people aren't for OCs, but as a secondary note, this story will not revolve completely around her. It involves, mostly, the Akatsuki, as well as Sasori's attempts to kill Sunagakure's Third Kazekage - that is, the Kazekage he converts into a puppet. Note that this relies heavily on my interpretations of Sasori and how he spent his time after leaving Sunagakure. Pairings later, perhaps.

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><p><strong>How To Kill The King<strong>

Chapter 1: The Bloodshed At Glasshouse

The rain was ceaseless, a grey veil covering the land from the nearest tree to the blurred line of the horizon, coming down in waves that turned the roads into hazardous trails of mud and made even the most experienced traveller hurry to seek out shelter. So it was that Sasori found himself leaving the road but an hour or so away from Amegakure, to hide himself away in a small teahouse lit only with small paper lanterns and a few dim oil lamps.

It was not something he would usually do - his body was in no way susceptible to the rain, for he could not feel the cold, but still the it was a bother. It was slowing his journey, and as impatient as Sasori considered himself, he always had a sense of practicality. And, right now, getting himself bogged on the muddy road outside was not ideal.

As soon as Sasori stepped into the teahouse, he knew it was unusual. Most teahouses did not exceed a single storey, and yet this place had two, closed off by a screen that had been marked with the words "no entry". The main sitting room was also full of the ruckus of many visitors, whose forms shifted as shadows across the shōji screen walls.

_Odd, _Sasori thought to himself. _Places such as this are usually quiet. And empty._

He turned to leave. In his full Akatsuki attire, and without his puppet armour Hiruko to hide behind, the idea of being noticed by a travelling shinobi did not sit well with Sasori.

'Ah! Good evening, sir! Welcome to _Glasshouse_!'

_Damn. She saw me._

Sasori glanced back over his shoulder, eyes held in their aloof half-shut state. The mistress of the teahouse was a thin, middle-aged woman dressed in a plain black kimono, though she did sport a few colourful ornaments in her hair. She bowed as a greeting to her new guest.

'I was just leaving,' Sasori murmured, moving back toward the entrance.

'Oh, but sir,' the woman rushed to stop him, leaping to her feet, 'you do not wish to miss our performance tonight!'

Sasori was already bored of this place. 'Performance?'

'Yes, but of course!' And the woman reached out to grab Sasori's arm, dragging him into the main sitting room without another word. Perhaps it was her sheer lack of ignorance that surprised Sasori enough to stop him from breaking her neck on the spot.

Sasori was dumped rather unceremoniously in between a huge tattooed shinobi (judging by the forehead protector wrapped around his right arm) and a frail old man, both of whom were being served tea from a second woman in black. The tattooed shinobi raised his cup to his mouth and drank the entire thing in one mouthful, suggesting that it was not tea he drunk, but sake - Sasori could smell it.

'For you, sir,' said the woman serving the tea, and she shoved a cup into Sasori's hands. He did not even make to raise them.

Suddenly, the lights went out. The only source of light within the teahouse now came from a dim blue paper lantern hanging from the ceiling; the eyes of perhaps a dozen or so more men glinted in the shadows of the room. Sasori was so thrown by all this that he could not even fathom standing just yet. Or perhaps he could stop playing "who shall I kill first?" in his head and actually carry out his wishes in the dark.

From somewhere in the room, a mirror was wheeled into the centre of the tatami mat, a mirror set in a decorative wooden frame. The twang of a shamisen sounded from the back corner, in a steady, growing rhythm.

_Oh great. What now?_ Sasori cleaned his teacup so tightly it almost smashed.

Just then, something _did _smash: the mirror. Upon hearing the sound of breaking glass, the other men in the tearoom ducked, but unnerved, Sasori watched on, unblinking.

Somehow, the glass had suspended itself in mid-air; and from the confines of the mirror came a young woman, adorned in a white silken kimono, dancing with the grace of a heron in between the shards of glass in time with the rhythm of the shamisen. Hair as white as her kimono whipped around her face as she danced, and her skin was almost as pale as snow. It was like watching a ghost dance.

Suddenly, the shamisen stopped, and the glass fell to the ground as fast as the rain outside. The dancer stopped too, breath making her shoulders rise and fall sharply. She then reached out her hands, and the glass at her feet began to spin around her in the manner of a whirlwind; the shamisen music started up again, and the (obviously, drunk) men in the teahouse began to cheer for her. Under the blue light and glittering glass, and the affects of the sake, the entire scene was like something from a dream.

It was beautiful, in truth. Like art.

Sasori flinched at his own thoughts.

Then, out of nowhere, the scene was broken: the tattooed shinobi beside Sasori suddenly rushed forward and seized the girl in the white kimono about the waist, oblivious to the glass he had to push his way through, and the girl let out a scream. The other men in the room jeered as the girl was hoisted over the shinobi's shoulder.

'Hey, _Okaa-san!_' the shinobi bellowed, and the teahouse's mistress appeared in the room. 'What do we start the bidding at, then?'

'Really, Goro-san?' The mistress asked with a smile. 'They have not even finished their dance -'

'A thousand yen, then?' asked the man named Goro. Sasori almost reeled in disgust, something he thought he could never do. Was he truly bidding on this girl? She was beyond him - whiter than snow, and clearly in possession of a jutsu Sasori had never encountered before. Like a glass doll. She was like art.

'A thousand?' another man suddenly piped up. 'I'll pay a twelve hundred.'

Sasori could barely see the girl's face; he only saw her hands moving within the slightly sheer sleeves of her kimono. Saw the tears on her face. Knew she was about to break.

If he had blinked, he would have missed it - missed the way the glass from the shattered mirror rose up from the floor and impaled itself in Goro's neck. He did not even have time to scream: he simply gagged, blood spilling from his mouth and onto the tatami, as he fell forward and hit the floor with a thud, pinning his victim beneath him.

Silence. And then -

The other dancers screamed first. Then the men shouted out, everything from fits of anger to terrified wails (and these closely resembled those of the dancers'). More glass fired itself through the air like arrows shot from a bow, slitting skin, cutting hair, leaving spatters of blood on the floor. Feet thundered on the ground as guests of _Glasshouse_ made for the door, while the mistress collapsed on the floor, gave a pathetic squeak, and then fled out into the rainy night.

In under a minute, the entire teahouse was empty, the guests well down the road by now.

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><p>On the bloodstained tatami, the girl in white coughed and shoved the weight of Goro from her small frame. The collar of her kimono had been dyed red in his blood, and strands of her silvery hair had also become stained and tangled. Trembling, the girl looked down at her hands. Red. Bleeding. She had her own glass in her skin, so spontaneous had her attack been.<p>

'That was quite a show.'

The girl in white almost screamed, and scurried back across the floor. There, unmoved since having first arrived, was Sasori, untouched by glass or blood.

'An interesting jutsu, too,' Sasori went on, watching the girl's face turn, if possible, even whiter. 'How do you manage to control glass? By combining earth and fire elements, perhaps?'

The girl stared at him, blinking slowly. Grey. Her eyes were grey. It was as if all colour had been drained from this girl. Saying nothing, she clambered to her feet and made for the door. Her legs were shaking beneath her, however, and in a few moments she was back on the tatami, sobbing.

'You killed that man so easily, I am surprised you are affected this way,' Sasori continued, glancing down at the cup of sake he held. 'The aftershock of dealing death does not sit well with many people. But you lashed out, didn't you? That man...' Sasori glanced at the lifeless body of the shinobi, Goro. 'You have hated him for a very long time, haven't you? And tonight, you'd had enough -'

'Shut up!'

The words were only hissed, but Sasori heard them all the same.

'Please,' she was sobbing louder now. 'Please...oh Kami, what have I done?'

In the meantime, Sasori was moving, discarding his untouched sake and heading for the door. _Best leave the pathetic, sobbing mess to her own amends._

'Wait.'

Sasori stopped, halfway out the door. Turning, he saw that the girl in white was now kneeling directly behind him, face streaked with tears, hair a tangled mess of blood. Yet, a strange sense of calm had overcome her.

'Help me.'

Sasori blinked once, slowly. Saying nothing, he reached down and pressed two fingers against her forehead, where a seal flashed briefly before disappearing once more. The girl's grey eyes rolled and she fell face-first onto the floor.

'You'll need help,' Sasori began, reaching out with chakra strings to lift the girl off the floor, 'when you become a weapon for the Akatsuki.' He grabbed the girl by her bloodstained kimono, hauled her over one shoulder, and set off back to Amegakure.

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><p><span>Closing:<span>

So undecided with this... Move on to the next chapter for a small teaser of sorts - and let me know what you think in a review, if you would kindly :)


	2. Operate, Manipulate

Author's note:

I fell into a massive plot-hole this morning. Here's hoping this story still works out... Also, this story was subjected to a genre change, since I've decided what kind of relationships will form later in the plot. Gawsh. Also: thank you for the favourites, reviews, and story alerts :)

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><p><strong>How To Kill The King<strong>

Chapter 2: Operate, Manipulate

The Akatsuki had approached him shortly before the outbreak of the Third Shinobi War; back then, they were a very young organisation, with its elusive leader struggling with the death of his closest friend and stumbling through the remnants of civil war. But already its leader knew his goal: eliminate the world of pain and suffering, and the gradual recruits of the Akatsuki would help him to do this.

But before Sasori fully committed himself to the group, he required a great weapon; and for that, he had a perfect plan.

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><p>When the girl in white next opened her eyes, the man with the red hair stared down at her, a bright light shining behind his head, light up the surgical instrument he held in his hands. She groaned quietly, coming round from whatever it was he had given her. She undoubtedly suspected it to be poison.<p>

'So...I did not give you a strong enough dosage, it seems.'

Her voice trembled, but she had not the strength to move anything but her lips.

'What...are you doing?'

'Creating art.'

She said firmly: 'You're mad.'

She could see the puppets hanging in the corners of the rooms. She could smell the blood that stained the table she lay on and the floor around it.

'I am sorry,' the young man said without a hint of sincerity, 'but I need a shell to create a puppet from.'

The panic was rising into her chest. She began to tremble again. Her heart thundered so loud she could almost hear it in her ears.

'No, please. Don't.'

'Sorry.' And he stabbed the needle into the girl's neck. Instantly the sedative worked, and his victims pale eyes gradually rolled into the back of her head. With that done, Sasori rolled the girl onto her stomach and parted her silver hair just behind her right ear; when he found it to be too long, he simply cut away at it until he could see the skin underneath.

'You will be different to all the puppets I have made so far,' Sasori spoke mostly to himself as he made an incision behind the girl's ear. 'You are lucky...you get to be an experiment. You won't know it, mind. But perhaps you shall be the greatest assassin Akatsuki has ever seen, when the time comes.'

He mused to himself as he worked, as many artists do when considering what to place upon their canvases - but instead of deciding where to start his next brush stroke, he contemplated where to insert the scalpel, where to crack the bone, and instead of spilling paint or ink he left blood on the girl's already dirtied kimono.

'I wonder if you would be proud of me now, Chiyo-sama,' Sasori mumured to himself as, a scattering of hours later, he stitched closed his victim's incision and cleaned the site of blood. He then rolled her onto her back and, taking her hands, gingerly used them and her arms to sit her upright. 'A puppet with no moving parts...more of a china doll, really.'

It would be quite some time before Sasori could use his new puppet in combat, however - first, he needed to establish her bizarre jutsu, undoubtedly a kekkei genkai, for he had never seen any ninja able to wield glass in the same manner as a kunai.

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><p>Finally, after almost two days of uninterrupted sleep, Sasori's new puppet opened her eyes. She felt no pain, no fear...instead, she only felt the cold of the room she lay in, a room that overlooked a highly industrialised city doused in a grey blanket of rain. The window's glass had been removed and fitted with bars, she noted, before suddenly recalling the boy with the red hair and finally feeling her heart begin to pick up the pace once more.<p>

'Oh good. You're awake.'

The lazy drawl came from the door, where the red-head was sitting in a small armchair.

She did not panic at this. She simply surveyed him as one may a bird on a wire.

'What is your name?' She asked him, voice calm. It was strikingly different to every other time she had addressed him: she spoke in a low voice, and almost eloquently.

'Sasori,' he answered, equally as steady. 'And you?' He may as well know the name of the girl he was manipulating.

'Takara.'

_"Treasure." _And she certainly would be.

'How is it that you came to work in that whorehouse?' Sasori questioned her. 'I assume that's what it was...hidden under the horrible guise of a teahouse, no less.'

Some emotion finally leaked into the face of Takara in the form of a slight blush.

'I wasn't...I wasn't a wh -'

'I don't really care,' Sasori interrupted her, and in truth he did not. 'I don't really care what you were. I will mould you into something different - and help you hone your abilities.'

Takara frowned slightly. 'The glass, you mean?' She then glanced at the barred window beside her. 'You are quite smart...if you had left the glass in the window I could have used it to form a weapon against you.'

'But _would _you?'

Takara seriously contemplated this for a moment, suddenly unsure of why she had suggested this in the first place. No. She would not attack this boy. There was no reason to. He had done nothing to her. She was unsure of why, in this moment, she felt no fear or anxiety toward him: she simply accepted his presence, much as one accepts the constant appearance of their shadow as a natural thing.

'No,' she eventually told him.

'Good.' Sasori then stood up, folded his arms, and said firmly: 'Come here.'

There were no strings involved, and yet Takara felt an immense tug toward Sasori at that moment - so strong was the urge that she nearly tripped as she took her first few steps. She noted, as she walked, that she still wore her blood-spattered kimono, though she could not recall how the blood got there in the first place. She noted a few grazes about her body that had been tended to: perhaps someone had attacked her?

About two feet from Sasori, Takara stopped. Sasori then took two pieces of glass from within his coat and held them up before Takara, who began to look bemused.

'How much do you know about your kekkei genkai? Tell me.'

The words spilled from Takara's mouth like a school student giving a speech. 'I was told it is referred to as "Glass Release". I can take a patch of earth, grind up the necessary minerals, and using fire release, heat them to the point that they melt. When it cools, I can keep manipulating the base earth elements within the glass, to change its shape or make the glass move.'

'So,' Sasori offered her the two glass shards, and she took them, supporting them in open palms. 'Can you manipulate these?'

Takara pursed her lips and stared down at the glass shards - the one in her right, Sasori had taken from _Glasshouse, _whilst he had taken the one in her left from the streeet. Slowly, she raised the shard in her right hand, made it spin swiftly, and then drop back down into her palm. The glass in her left hand remained immobile.

'I see,' Sasori's thoughts were confirmed at that. 'So you can only manipulate glass you have made?'

'Yes. I have not infused chakra into the base elements of glass made by others.'

Taking the glass back from Takara, Sasori noted: 'Since you know about your abilities...why work in a teahouse? Clearly you could make a living some place else.'

Takara frowned, and by now truly looked puzzled. Finally, she stammered the response: 'I - I don't know.'

As Sasori had planned. He almost smiled.

'I don't really recall much,' Takara went on as Sasori took something from the armchair where he had been sitting. She glanced down in surprise when Sasori offered her a small pile of clothes, amongst which seemed to be a new pair of white robes.

'These are for you,' Sasori stated. 'Change into them. I will be back in ten minutes.'

Nodding, Takara took the robes from Sasori and unfurled them in her hands. They were, in fact, a pure white cloak, reaching below her knees, with a large hood that bore the design of a small black cloud across its back.

'Thank you.' she said, bowing shortly to Sasori. He ignored the gesture and disappeared out the door, locking it behind him as he went. Before his footsteps had even faded down the hall, Takara threw aside her old bloodstained robes and dressed herself in what Sasori had given her - comfortable clothes the likes of tights, boots and an oversized tunic of sorts - before fastening the white cloak about herself and hovering by the door.

Sasori let her out ten minutes later, as promised. He hesitated upon first seeing her; a pale girl with silver hair and grey eyes, dressed all in white...she looked more like a ghost than human.

'Follow me,' he instructed, and like a dog Takara shadowed him at the heel. In silence, Sasori began to lead Takara down a series of hallways, all of which made Takara think of the belly of a great beast, if that beast was comprised of steel and steam and churning gears. Down a few spiralling stairwells, and they appeared to be in a basement of sorts, the walls rusted and floors scuffed from many a training session. Eerie wooden puppets hung from the walls here, and judging by the rate they had been embedded with kunai, they had been part of the training sessions, too.

'Now,' Sasori began, closing the hefty steel door behind him and locking it, 'I need you to show me the jutsu you have learned, using your kekkei genkai.' He reached out and offered Takara a large pouch of black silk, tied with a silver ribbon. Takara took it purely to be polite, but when she felt the weight of it in her hands, curiosity caused her to pry it open. The scent of cold earth greeted her, and for a moment she glanced at Sasori, puzzled.

She nearly jumped back, startled, however: Sasori had raised both his hands, fingers crooked like spiders' legs, and something blue and shimmering was stretching out from them, toward her.

'Don't move. I need your co-operation for this.'

Takara found herself unwilling to move, but still anxiety had her at the throat. She then felt something warm brush against her hands, legs, and head, after which Sasori stood back, the chakra threads stretching as he went so as to give Takara some slack.

'Alright. You may begin,' he said. He then watched on with curious eyes as Takara knelt upon the ground, sprinkling the dirt in a straight line in front of her. Discarding the bag, she formed the appropriate hand-seals, and the earth began to smoke; it then, rather spontaneously, caught fire, and began to burn at such a rate that it glowed molten-red. Another hand-seal, and Takara had extinguished the flame, leaving a strip of what looked like lava before her.

'It will cool quick...this room is very cold,' she said aloud.

She was quite right: in thirty or less seconds, the strip of molten-hot earth had cooled into a grey sheet of rock, which Takara picked up, examined briefly, and then tapped upon the stone floor. At once, the crust crumbled away to reveal a slither of glass in its wake, the size of a long-sword and equally as sharp.

'Good,' Sasori said it in such a flat voice however that Takara did not feel enthused. He had already memorised the hand seals she had used to infuse the earth with her chakra and then manipulate it; such was the reason for attaching his chakra threads. The master had to learn how to control his puppet.

'Anything else?' He pressed.

Takara nodded. 'I...I need to make more glass.'

'Go ahead.'

In reality, it was Sasori who made the glass, backing away from Takara as he worked her hands via his chakra threads, testing the distance at which he could control her. His suspicion was that, since Takara still maintained a certain amount of free-will and thought, that he would be able to control her from further away, unlike his lifeless puppets, which required his full attention at all times during battle.

In a few minutes more, Takara stood amongst three large sheets of glass, which she brought up to rest around her in a shield-like formation. Eyes closed, she then performed more seals, and the glass panes began to spin so rapidly about her that Sasori lost sight of her: he could only feel her hands moving, and her feet leave the ground, before the glass stopped spinning and revealed themselves to be mirrors, Takara seemingly trapped in the central one. Slightly amused, Sasori watched as Takara proceeded to spread the mirrors out about the room, her reflection dashing in and out of them, before the true Takara sprung from a mirror behind Sasori and re-called the three mirrors to stand behind her.

Sasori was slightly impressed. He would have liked to have known how Takara had learned such abilities, but as it stood, he had suppressed much of her memory; in regards to her skills, Takara only remembered how to control them, and not necessarily how she received them.

For quite a while more Sasori learned, via his chakra threads, how Takara's abilities worked. She could use the glass and mirrors as shields that could withstand a heavy impact; form the glass into many edge weapons; and, given the time, could cover herself in glass armour that withstood both Sasori's flamethrower and high-pressure water canons.

At the end of their first session together, Takara was plainly exhausted: Sasori could feel the weight and trembling in her chakra threads, and so released them and allowed Takara reprieve. She was still recovering from her "operation", after all.

'You may leave your glass panes down here, if you wish,' Sasori said as Takara wiped the sweat from her face with the sleeve of her cloak. 'You may use this room whenever you choose, in order to train. Now, I have a task for you.'

Takara nodded without complaint.

'There are still many in this village who are loyal to its old leader, Hanzo. Most have been disposed of by your colleagues already, but there is one shinobi... His name is Hashimoto Katsuo, once a personal spy for Hanzo the Salamander. In order for you to prove your worth, I need you to do something for me.'

Takara nodded, despire the flurried, apprehensive rhythm that her heart beat; despite the fear rising into her throat, she could do nothing else but listen, and obey.

'I need you to kill Katsuo, and his family. You will do this, Takara, and you will not fail.'

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><p><span>Closing:<span>

Oh my goodness, that was far too long, even for me -_- (probably could have cut out that whole "surgery" scene). So much to write, so little time! I need to get Takara's training out of the way so that I can move on with the damned plot! Anyway, please, review - it makes me happy and motivates me to stay up until one o'clock writing!


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